Twisted Fantasy
by FirePheonix15
Summary: The dreams comes every night. She comes every night. They're vivid, enchanting, and all Harry wants is to know who she is. But she dreams too. She sees him, doing things that no mundane could, things that she never could. And all feelings she feels for others vanish when she thinks of him. But someone will do anything to keep them apart. (Rating T to be safe.)
1. Chapter 1: The Dream

**A/N: Hello everyone. This is my first fanfiction, so be nice. However, reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed. This is a little thing I wrote in my many minutes of constant boredom. I shared with my AMAZEBALLS beta/editor Star, who loved it and insisted I continue. Since then, I have constructed this into a feels-destroying, heart-wrenching story which I am positive you will enjoy. So please check out my amazing editor ****Starlight Angel 12**** (who is also my super annoying sister) and my other sister ****Tuesday101****. Also check out my friend ****Whiterosewriter**** (her fanfics are amazing btw). **

**Disclaimer: This website is titled for a reason. The definition of fanfiction, according to Wikipedia is: a broadly-defined fan labor term for stories about characters or settings written by fans of the original work, rather than by the original creator. So, if you cant understand the strange language of Wikipedia, it means I DON'T OWN ANYTHING YOU RECOGNIZE FROM HARRY POTTER OR TMI. But you probably figured that out already. **

**Ok, I'm gonna stop blabbing, and if you've read this far I love you. Let the story commence!**

**~Summer**

**Chapter One: The Dream**

** ͛ Harry ͛ **  
Harry woke with a start. Colours swam in front of his eyes, but his vision returned after blinking repeatedly. He grabbed his glasses from the bedside table and hastily threw them on, throwing off his covers restlessly. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he sighed. He'd had the dream again. Lately, the dream had been a nightly occurrence, always haunting him. It was always the same. When Harry slipped into the dream, the first thing he saw was a tangle of fiery red hair. There was a girl, standing quite far away, her back turned towards him. She was petite and very short, about five feet, wearing jeans and a green sweater. At first, he thought she might have been Ginny. But then, the girl swung her head over her shoulder, and Harry saw her face. Each of her features were tiny and delicate, her eyes a beautiful gray-green. Her complexion was fair, her cheeks lightly dusted with freckles. She was beautiful, there was no doubt in Harry's mind about that.  
Hundreds of images would flash by after that; horrible creatures getting decapitated, dancing in a crowded club, the girl laughing with her friends. Harry would just stand there, helpless, and watch intently, desperately trying to learn as much as he could about the girl. The final image that Harry saw was the girl standing in a beautiful garden. She turned towards Harry, her red hair spilling down her shoulders in curly locks. She smiled at him, a blinding smile, and then turned away. Harry was confused, and then the world spun three hundred degrees, and he could see perfectly: the girl had turned away from him and was now in the arms of a tall, blonde haired boy, who was smiling maliciously. Harry felt his heart shatter into a million pieces just before he woke up.  
Now, Harry felt that pain in his chest, that familiar throbbing, aching that always came after he saw the girl so happily in the boy's arms. He guessed that the boy was about his age, though he looked older, with strange scars all over his body. Harry knew a lot about scars. The girl might have been fifteen or sixteen, but she looked much younger.  
Harry didn't care. The hollow feeling in his stomach and the ache in his heart was rapidly replaced by an intense hatred. Hatred for the blonde boy, for holding the girl and gloating triumphantly, for the dreams, for making him fall apart like this; but, mostly, for himself, for feeling such strong emotion for people that weren't real.  
But they _were_ real.  
He knew it, somehow. These people weren't figments of his imagination; they existed, somewhere, whether it be in the past, the present, or in the deep subconscious of Harry's mind. But these people, Harry knew, were as real as Ron snoring away in the bunk above him.  
Something else had been bothering him about the dream. He knew that the girl was a muggle, but he couldn't help but feel as if there was something else there, underlying the obvious lack of magic, that made Harry wonder if she truly was a muggle. She definitely wasn't a wizard, but... She wasn't exactly normal. The thought made Harry's head hurt.  
Replaying the dream in his head, a thought occurred to him, slamming him full force. He realized that he loved her. Over the past weeks, he'd known her through the dreams and now, he was in love with her. The idea scared Harry; he was in love with a girl who was either on the other side of the earth or unreal. But he couldn't shake that feeling in his heart. This was unlike anything he'd ever felt for anybody; not Cho or Hermione or even Ginny. This was true love, and though it sounded corny, Harry knew it was true. He loved her. Saying it over and over in his head, adrenaline coursed through his bones. He was in love. Harry Potter was in love! He chuckled at his own childishness. But he was frightened, incredibly frightened, at the thought that he'd never meet her, never touch her hand. That blonde boy could touch her hand and hold her close, but Harry never could.  
He needed to know her. He truly believed that she existed, he just needed to find her.  
He put all his concentration into focusing on that girl, focusing until something popped into his head.  
And it did. A name out of nowhere. A name, unfamiliar and perfect, that could only be the name of the girl he loved.  
Clary.

**A/N: MUHAHAHA! Read, review, recommend! Reviews=Love**


	2. Chapter 2: Autumn Leaves

**A/N: Hello again! **

**So, this is Chapter Two! I'm very very sorry that I left you all on such a "cliffhanger" (I put that in quotations because when it comes to me, that's not a cliffhanger. Keep reading, and soon you will see a REAL cliffhanger. Muhaha!). Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it really made my day. Also, if you are a guest reviewing my story (you know who you are) then I want you to know that I can't reply to you but I still see your reviews and you make me sooo happy. Also I have a four day weekend this week so Chapter Three should be up by Thursday. No promises!**

**Also, if you've read all this and didn't skip the Author's Note, then I love you! **

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter and TMI don't belong to me blah blah blah. If they did, well, I wouldn't spend all my free time reading books, fanfics, and blogging about those books and fanfics. No, actually, if I wrote HP or TMI I'd STILL fangirl and blog over books.**

**Nuf said, enjoy the fic!**

**Chapter Two: Autumn Leaves**

**Clary**  
Clary drew her lips into a tight line and pulled away from Jace. She unlocked her hands from his hair; the motion making Jace tense, grimacing almost as if in pain. There was only about a foot of space between them, but to Clary, it could have been the Grand Canyon. It was as if the love she felt towards Jace flickered delicately like a candle; to pull away was to deprive the flame of the oxygen it craved, to kiss him was to ignite a bonfire. She could feel the flame suffocating, dying, and the only way to keep it burning was to reach for his hand.  
Her boyfriend's eyes cautiously opened, as if he was awakening from a beautiful dream. Clary looked into his golden eyes, flecks of blue reflected in them as he stared into the pond. When he looked back at her, she could see a rare vulnerability in him, the kind she'd never seen until they went to Idris; now it was something she witnessed all the time.  
"Jace." She whispered, clutching his hand. "That was nice."  
He smirked. "Glad you think so."  
"Jace..."  
He must of sensed something in her voice, because Jace perked up. "What is it?"  
"I feel like... Like we're being watched." Clary said.  
Jace was on alert now, his eyes darting around. Clary couldn't help quickly surveying her surroundings. Jace had surprised her that morning, the anniversary of the day Clary first arrived at the Institute, with a fully prepared picnic. They'd chosen a place in a less popular area of Central Park and set down a red checkered blanket, which Clary thought to be very cliche. Beside them, a small clear pond reflected their faces. Rolling, grassy hills surrounded them, patches of brightly coloured flowers popping up at their feet. The sunlight splashed off of Jace's hair, making it look like spun gold. He was beautiful, Clary thought.  
But when she kissed him a moment ago, a strange feeling of guilt overcame her. It put her on edge; she'd never regretted kissing Jace before.  
Jace jumped up and headed towards the small clump of trees in the distance. Muttering to himself, he kept a fast pace and Clary had to jog to keep up to him. "Jace!" She called. "Jace, wait! Hold on a minute..." But he kept on moving faster, as if he didn't hear her at all.  
Just as he was entering the forest, Clary managed to catch up with him. He stood slumped against a large willow tree. The autumn leaves sent a reddish glow on his harsh cheekbones, making him look bashful and shy. Clary thought he looked more attractive that way. "Come here," he said. His tone wasn't desperate and hungry, but more soft and gentle. The words came out like a command.  
Clary did as she was told and stepped closer to her boyfriend. He opened his arms and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Clary," he breathed. Clary knew he took every opportunity he possibly could to say her name in such a loving tone; he could speak to her as seductively, romantic, and lovingly as he wanted now that they could be together. The period of time when she thought Jace was her brother were the worst days of her life. She knew Jace felt the same way, and that sometimes, for Jace, just saying her name was the largest declaration of love that he could manage.  
She buried her face deeper into his shirt, soaking in his warmth. It was a chilly autumn day, but Clary had never felt so electrified.  
"Clary," Jace said again, "You know that if you ever feel like you're in danger, you can come to me. I'll always protect you. Don't you know that?"  
"Of course I do," she said, barely listening.  
"Good. Because I want to be the one to protect you. I will_ always_ be the one to protect you. Don't ever forget that. Okay?"  
There was something startling in his tone; it made Clary shiver and pull away. His words came out harsh, almost angry. Clary couldn't understand him; the words he said should have been comforting and romantic, instead they were demanding and _harmful_.  
"Yeah, Jace. I-I know."  
"Good." He said.  
"I love you."  
"I know."  
"Shut up," she giggled.  
Jace reached his hand up to her face and tucked a bit of her curly red hair behind her ear. "_Quis semper amata prae te amo, ut ego te volo, semper aliquid desideratur." _  
"Stop that." Clary said.  
"Stop what? Expressing my innermost feelings?"  
Clary slid closer to him and said, "No, stop saying things in languages I don't understand."  
"Would you prefer I express my innermost feelings in a language you DO understand?"  
"Yes."  
"I love you more than I have ever loved anyone; I want you more than I have ever desired anything."  
Clary stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, softly. Jace threw his arms around her torso, his sturdy hands supporting her. He kissed her back, hard; Clary could feel the fire between them. This is good, she thought. I feel fine.  
Suddenly Jace fell back onto the soft, wet grass, Clary tumbling on top of him. She detached her lips from his and rested her head in his chest. She could feel him as he breathed. "Do you know how much I would pay," he began, "to stay like this, with you, forever?"  
Something snapped inside Clary then. "Forever is a long time," she told him.  
She could feel his chest shake as he laughed. "Yeah, I know. But I think it's safe to say I wanna spend it with you."  
Clary pushed herself off of Jace. "I want to show you something," she said.  
She led Jace to a large Weepimg Willow tree. Ducking under the leaves, the couple moved their way in underneath the long, beautiful leaves.  
"Woah," Jace said, looking around. Light filtered in through the light green fronds. Crickets and hummingbirds filled the air with their pleasant little songs. Jace pulled Clary close, the earthy tones splashing on his face. She laced her fingers around his neck and kissed him softly. This was right. This was how it was supposed to be.  
_RING! RING!_  
Clary pulled away and yanked her cell phone out of her pocket. She shot an apologetic glance at Jace and raised the phone to her ear.  
"What?" She hissed.  
"Clary!" It was Simon. He sounded very relieved. "Oh thank-" He broke off.  
"Yeah. Um, Simon, what is it? Now's not a great time..."  
"You're with Jace, aren't you?"  
Clary didn't answer him.  
"Clary! I was worried sick! You just disappear from Luke's, not a word, nothing, and you-"  
"Look Simon, I'm sorry, okay?" Clary was startled by her own harsh tone. She cringed.  
"Anyways, I'm not calling you to... Never mind. Just, hurry up ok?"  
"Simon, what's wrong?"  
"Something's happened. We need you at the Institute right away."  
After hanging up the phone, Clary related the message to Jace.  
"Well, c'mon then." He murmured.  
He trudged on ahead, the leaves crunching under his boots. As she stated at him, Clary could feel the flame between them flicker out and die.


	3. Chapter 3: Professor Wolfe

**A/N: Ok, so I promised that I would post this tonight, and so here it is. However, this is an un-edited version since my beta wasn't able to get it all edited by tonight. But I wanted to give you guys a little something.**

**Like I said in my author's note for Draconidae, I'm super sorry about not posting. However, expect a spam of chapters/stories tomorrow!**

**~S**

**Chapter Three: Professor Wolfe**

**Harry**

"Hurry up, Harry!" Hermione nagged. "We're going to be late for our first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson!"

Ron shot a pleading expression towards Harry. "Blimey," he said, "We've been here, what, four days and she's already on top of us."

"I heard that Ronald." She laughed, trudging forward. Harry shrugged and ran to catch up with her.

"... And then we'll need to study every night." She'd been saying. Ron and Harry just chuckled and followed her down the familiar corridor that led to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

It felt good to be home, Harry thought. His summer had been completely horrendous, as his Uncle Vernon became more awful, his Aunt Petunia more stuffy, and his cousin Dudley... Much larger. From dawn to dusk he had a list of tiring chores he needed to complete, and his sleep was plagued with nightmares. He'd just barely managed to complete all of his magic homework, and was constantly exhausted from lack of sleep. Matters only became worse when he had his first dream about... _Clary._

"Harry!" Harry was jolted out of his reverie by Hermione's screech. He looked up just as his face collided with one of the portraits. The people in the paintings screamed indignantly, shouting rather rude remarks to the young wizards. Hermione gasped and rushed over to Harry. "Harry, are you alright?!" She fussed over her now-collapsed friend; Harry was lying in a crumpled heap, groaning on the floor.

"Bloody hell, mate." Ron muttered. "What happened? It's not like you to... Er... Run into walls." He extended a hand and pulled Harry up off the ground.

"I'm fine..." Harry mumbled.

"Harry, are you sick? What's the matter?" Hermione wouldn't leave him alone. Her fingers traced his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "Harry-"

"I'm fine!" He shouted. "I just... Wasn't watching where I was going." He stormed off into the halls.

Harry trudged down the familiar corridors. He knew Hogwarts better than he knew the back of his hand. He could navigate the school in his sleep. Sleep... Harry was seriously deprived of sleep. Ever since the dreams started...

He pushed the thought away. At the moment, he just needed to focus on getting through all of his classes and passing the OWLs. If he could manage that, then maybe no one would notice how often he yawned, or how scarcely he ate, or the dark circles under his eyes.

He continued the long walk down the corridor. The minute Harry reached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, he could sense that something was different. _Very_ different. The corridor seemed almost _brighter_ if that was even possible. The scent of something sweet-was it _perfume_-lingered in the air. Harry took a deep breath to collect himself before entering the classroom.

At the front of the class stood a tall, young woman; Harry guessed she could have been in her early twenties. Her almost white-blonde hair had been neatly arranged in a perfect bun, and not a single hair on her head was out of place. Hardly any wrinkles were apparent on her face, and each of her features were blunt yet sharp; as if she'd been chiseled out of stone and then smoothed with sandpaper. Her skin was very pale, as if she had never seen the light of day. She was outfitted in a very elegant suit, contrasted by the electric yellow tie peeking out from under her blazer.

Harry didn't recognize the teacher. He thought back to the welcoming feast; he'd been half asleep. The day before returning to Hogwarts had been very chaotic: he had to rush to complete all of his homework, finish his chores, pack his trunk, and, as always, there was the fight with the Dursleys. "You will not go back to that school!" Vernon, his uncle, had said. "I'd like to be rid of you, boy, but I refuse to send you off to that madhouse where you'll be taught how to murder us! I will _not_ be turned into a toad in my own house. An _insane asylum_ is where all you lot belong!"

In the end, of course, Harry had managed to convince them. He only had three more years of school, he reasoned, and after he graduated he'd be able to permanently reside in the wizarding world. Harry didn't tell his uncle about the evil dark lord out to murder him, or that Harry didn't expect to live to see his graduation.

In any case, Harry's trip to school had been mostly uneventful. He tried to listen to Hermione as she babbled about her summer, but eventually he fell asleep. And he stayed asleep, too, until they arrived at Hogwarts. As he stumbled off the train, it became obvious that the lack of regular sleep was affecting him. He was half asleep through the welcome feast; which explained why he didn't remember ever seeing this new professor.

"Ah, hello students." Harry looked behind him and saw that Ron and Hermione were also standing in the doorway. "Well, don't be shy; come sit down," the professor said, gesturing towards a few empty desks. Reluctantly, Harry started toward the nearest desk. It was apparent that they were _very_ late.

"Now," the woman started, "Mr. Weasley and his friends will soon learn that tardiness is not tolerated in my class."

Ron looked at Harry, his mouth open in bewilderment. He seemed astonished that somebody-_a professor_-would recognize him before the famous Harry Potter. The Dark Arts teacher, however, just chuckled a little to herself.

"I am Professor Samantha Wolfe, and I-if you have not already assumed so-am your new teacher. Now, without any further interruptions, we shall start straight into our lesson." She pulled out an elegant, mahogany wand and gave it a flick. Textbooks floated out of the cupboard and were distributed to the students, as was the custom. Harry looked down at the heavy, dusty book. He could tell by looking at the frayed pages, damaged spine, and the thick layer of dust on the textbook that they were old, and had not been used for quite some time. He inspected the title: _An Education in Dark Magic, Grade Three_ by Arsenius Grogorich.

Hermione's hand shot up. "Excuse me, professor, but this textbook says grade three. We're fifth years, and-"

"If I may interrupt..."

Hermione nodded. "Hermione Granger."

"If I may interrupt, Miss Granger, your concern is valid. In fact, two points to Gryffindor for interest in education and questioning authority." Hermione beamed.

Ron leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear, "If that's what Wolfe will give points for, then 'Mione will win us the house cup."

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter," she scolded. Professor Wolfe turned towards the rest of the class. "I will be spending a lot of time with this class. I will be your teacher for a year-" Harry noticed how she didn't say years- "and I intend it to be a very enjoyable year. However, in order to create a constructive and fun environment, I believe that teacher and student must first understand each other. There are three things that I _do not _tolerate, and they are tardiness, talking out of turn, and blatant disrespect. _Mr. Malfoy!"_ Draco Malfoy had been sniggering to his bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle, violating Professor's Wolfe's last two rules.

The professor inhaled. "Now. As I have been trying to say for the last few minutes; yes, Miss Granger is correct. You have been given third year textbooks, when in fact you have already studied that curriculum. Can anybody tell me why that is?"

Harry thought he heard Malfoy whisper, _Because you're a nutter?_

Neville sheepishly raised his hand.

"Yes, and who are you?"

"N-Neville Longbottom." He stammered.

"Mr. Longbottom, why do you propose that all of you were given third year books?"

"Well… Maybe it's because we aren't really learning that. Maybe we're learning something different." Neville's cheeks flushed a feverish pink, and he looked as if he regretted saying anything at all.

"Well done, Mr. Longbottom, well done!" Professor Wolfe hopped up and perched on the corner of her desk. "Five points to Gryffindor because of Mr. Longbottom's deductive reasoning and courage to share his brilliant ideas." Neville's entire face resembled a cherry at this point.

Professor Wolfe scanned the class before starting again. "Everyone, please open up your textbooks. The first person to find the publishing date shall earn their house a point."

After a few seconds, Hermione's hand shot into the air, waving wildly about. "Miss Granger has just garnered another point for Gryffindor. However, why don't _you_ tell us what the date is." Wolfe pointed at a small, shy girl in the back of the class. She had curly, untamable black hair that put Hermione's mane to shame. She had vivid violet eyes and pale, freckled skin. Lucilia Snow. She was born into a long, _long_ (and very famous) line of Slytherins and was the first Snow to ever be sorted in Gryffidnor. The other Slytherins teased her for it, too.

"Me?" She squeaked.

"Yes. Please recite your name and your findings."

"Alright. Um… Lucilia Snow. And I…um… It says 'Published for public distribution in 1819.'"

"Good," Proffesor Wolfe said. "Now, it is my understanding that your education in this subject has been somewhat… _irregular_." She chose her words carefully. "You have learned many important skills, and it is not my duty to erase those from your mind. It also not my duty to elaborate on these past studies. Last year, specifically, you were introduced to some very advanced magic. Those lessons will not be continued. My successors all had very unique teaching methods. Some chose to present you with advanced information, others taught you a very basic understanding, and others followed the curriculum exactly. And I believe that every one of these professors gave you valuable skills that you will eventually all need, so I encourage you to keep those in mind this year. However, as your _new_ teacher, I will be veering off of the regular path.

"This year, you will be applying your previous knowledge to everyday situations. This semester will be focused on how dark magic, and the fight against it, has evolved. This year's textbooks are nearly two hundred years old. Of course, even Hogwarts' library has recourses older than that, but for specific reasons these are the textbooks we will use.

"Your first assignment is to read chapters one and two, and write a 5,000 word essay on how our perception of dark magic has changed from the early nineteenth century. This will be due next week. Any questions?"

The room was silent.

"Good. Class dismissed."

Sitting in the common room that night, Harry and his friends discussed their new teacher.

"How 'bout that Wolfe, eh?" Seamus smiled mischievously. "I'm none too sure about her teaching methods, but she isn't hard to look at."

Dean said, "Yeah, I wouldn't mind spending a midnight detention with her—"

Hermione smacked him with her homework.

The boys—Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean, Fred, George, and Neville—all laughed. Hermione, Katie Bell, Lucilia and Ginny, however, were not impressed.

"She's a bit…_eccentric,_ isn't she?" Ron ventured.

"Eccentric? I don't think so," Hermione stuck up her nose. "I think she's a _great_ teacher. She knows what she's talking about."

"You just like her because she's the only professor that allows you to be a stuck-up know-it-all." Ron snapped.

Hermione just stared at him, hurt, for a moment.

"_Well_," she retorted, gathering up her books, "Someone's in a bad mood. Goodnight, _Ronald_." She marched off, assuming that force-to-be-reckoned-with stature; she'd always straighten up, clutch her books close to her chest, shoot Ron a nasty glare, and noisily storm off whenever she got into a fight with Ron. Harry knew her so well that he could recognize Hermione's moods before she could.

"Ronald," Harry heard Ron mutter.

"What?"

"Ronald," he groaned. "She always calls me 'Ronald' when she's upset with me."

Harry added, "Or when she outsmarts you."

"So, in other words, all of the time," Fred—or was it George—put in. Everybody smiled, but Ron looked distraught.

Harry slapped his back encouragingly. "Don't worry about it, mate. You know Hermione; she's almost always mad at you. She'll forget about it, come tomorrow." It was true; Harry couldn't understand why Ron was so upset.

"It's _different_ this time," he protested.

Harry wasn't quite sure what his friend meant.

At that moment, Angelina Johnson burst into the common room. She was looking down at what appeared to be a newspaper, and she was sobbing violently. Upon seeing her in tears, George jumped up from his chair and ran to comfort her. He pulled her into him and she cried into his shoulder; but after a few seconds Angelina regained her composure. Katie and Lucilia had also rushed to Angelina, and they were now both beside her, riddled with concern. "Angelina, what is it? What's wrong?" Katie said, her voice gentle.

Angelina, struggling to remain calm, took a breath and said: "Death Eaters…there's been an attack."


End file.
